Intestines I entwine, dripping juices, sludge and gunkTaking pictures to remind me when I'm bored and down on luckWhat a thrill it is to feel the inside of your headYour thoughts I seem to sense, but that's not possible as you seem to bequite dead

Globs of bodily juices drop and splat upon the floorAs I drag your festering corpse, oozing sticky strings of goreYour shoulder bones protruding, cracking as they hit the wallPetrol sure in handy when you tire of it allRotting muscles slipping off, congealing lumpy massBlistering and frying as your cadaver turn to ash

Scooping up remainsPouring into tins and jugsFeeling clean and pure of mindI'm a genius, not obnoxious...